One of the secret pleasures of writing is that you get to live a double-life: there’s the reality of here and now, with it’s daily routine, but then at the same time there’s the daydream-world of whatever story you’re working through. So if I get bored of doing the dishes, or waiting in line at the grocery store, I can just slip into the crowded streets of New York, 1901, or a dusty road outside Jerusalem in 1665, or a polished apartment on the Ringstraße of Vienna – the setting for my next story that, because I’ve spent so much time imagining it, is always instantly, effortlessly there.